by Rachel Green
Simon pulled the chair back again. “I cannot contemplate suicide. It is a grievous sin that cannot be forgiven.”
“Your beliefs damn your soul. To a pagan, death by any means releases you to rejoin the Great Spirit.”
“I will not regret my faith. What was your alternative resolution?”
“Write your confession and then we’ll talk.” She crossed the room and opened the door. “Sunset is at three minutes past eight this evening. You have until seven to settle your affairs and meet me at the bandstand in the park.” Her whole demeanor hardened. “Do not disappoint me in this.”
* * * *
Richard awoke to a knock on the door. “Who is it?”
His voice roused his sleeping wife, who opened her eyes. “This is the first time since our marriage that I’ve woken up with you beside me.”
Richard smiled and looked toward the door.
“It’s Amanda, sir, with your breakfast.”
“Come in.” Richard shuffled upward so that he was sitting with his back to the headboard and twitched the duvet over his wife’s naked breasts.
Amanda pushed open the door. “Mistress sends this with her compliments, sir, and wondered if she could talk with you when you’re ready?”
“Of course.” He smoothed out the sheets so Amanda could put the tray on his lap. “This looks good. Toast, scrambled eggs, bacon.” He grinned. “A step up from Mike’s charcoal sandwiches at the White Art.”
“Thank you, sir.” Amanda smiled. “Would you like your tea poured?”
“No thanks, we can manage.” Richard nudged his wife to sit up. “Tell my aunt that I’ll see her in the conservatory at eleven, would you? I want to phone that woman first and find out who really killed my stepfather.”
“As you wish, sir.” Amanda left the room, closing the door behind her.
“I’ll be glad when all this is over.” Richard tore off a piece of bacon and put it between Catherine’s teeth. She chewed slowly then sat up. He grabbed the tray to prevent it spilling.
“Then you’ll be the master of the house and I shall be the mistress.”
Richard laughed. “In name, perhaps, but behind closed doors you’ll still be my little angel.” He grinned at her pout.
“Do you still love me?”
“Of course.” Richard leaned over and kissed her. “That’s why I shall take on more submissives, so you don’t have to do the cleaning anymore.”
Catherine reached for a piece of buttered toast. “Will you carry on the tradition of cooking for the staff?”
“Once a week,” Richard promised, “but only if you can’t. Otherwise it’s a job for the mistress of the house.”
Chapter 36
After meeting Simon at the bandstand, Meinwen led him through the woods and up the steep path to the falls where she had arranged to meet Harold Waterman, the mysterious lord of the manor, his partner and their lawyer. Her torch lit the path in a very small radius, forcing him to stumble over loose stones and roots. Unseen wings fluttered through the branches and small beasts scurried past.
“I thought you didn’t like the woods?”
“I don’t.” Meinwen didn’t glance around. “Most of the time I feel as if I’m being watched. Did you know there was a monolith at the top of the falls?”
“In the clearing, yes. What of it?”
“It’s part of a stone circle enclosing the whole town.”
“More of your mumbo jumbo?”
“If you like.” She fell silent for a moment. “It makes the whole town harmonious with the ley lines.”
“Pah.” Simon spat as they reached the top of the steep path, the waterfall to their left. “Now what? If you think I’m doing anything stupid you’re very much mistaken. I could just throw you over the edge right now. It’d be a terrible accident.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Meinwen gestured with her torch. “There’d be witnesses.”
Three figures stood a little way back from the leat, two with old-fashioned lanterns and one, a woman, with no source of light at all. The woman approached and Meinwen stepped forward to meet her.
She shuddered at the two men left in the background. Harold Waterman and his friend Mr. Jasfoup dressed in a bishop’s cloak and miter. It was good of them to agree with her idea and Mr. Jasfoup’s disguise would have fooled his mother, if he had one. She wondered if he was really a bishop. It would explain why he made her flesh creep.
Gillian du Pointe walked up to them and dropped a bag on the ground. Meinwen looked into her eyes. They were almost colorless and reflected the vibrant pinks of the early evening sky.
Gillian looked directly at Simon and unfurled a parchment scroll adorned with the seal of Laverstone. “Simon Brande. You have been found guilty of the crime of blackmail within the demesne of Laverstone.”
Simon snarled. “What’s going on? Miss du Pointe? You’ve no authority here. I’m going home.”
“You don’t really have the opportunity for questions.” Gillian kicked the bag toward him. “My authority comes from the lord of Laverstone manor and Bishop Mauvais of the Franciscan monastery in St. Albans. Take off your clothes and put these on.”
Simon stared at her. “I shall do no such thing. Meinwen? What is this absurd arrangement you’ve made?”
“It’s your other choice.” Meinwen turned toward him. “One that will fit very well with your faith. You are to atone for your sins as a monk under a vow of silence.” She nodded toward the two men. “The abbey will hide you from justice and keep the good name of your church out of disrepute.”
Simon snorted. “I’m not becoming a bloody monk. You have no proof I did anything and saving Richard heartache isn’t worth this.”
Meinwen indicated the waterfall and the two-hundred-foot drop to the rocks below. “Then jump. No one will stop you. In the eyes of the parish you will be dead either way, thus saving the reputations of your sister, your son and your parishioners.”
“I won’t.” Simon drew even farther from the edge. “I can say the confession was made under duress.”
“Then face the consequences like a man.” Meinwen said. “We’ll go to Inspector White together. I have your confession. I’m sure that Jennifer and Richard will get over it in time. They might even visit you in prison.”
Simon looked at the churning water and back at Meinwen. He sighed and began to unbutton his coat.
Chapter 37
Meinwen looked up into the imposing features of Inspector White, never at his best when woken before dawn to look for a body in the river.
He took a sip from a plastic traveler’s coffee mug. “You should have told me sooner. You could have been killed, confronting him like that while you were alone in your house. There’s nothing more dangerous than a cornered beast.”
Meinwen nodded, her gaze cast to the ground. The inspector’s boots could do with a clean, she thought. It was probably only mud from the woods but it still gave a less than favorable impression. “I realize that in hindsight, Inspector. I have the whole thing here.” She handed him a padded envelope. “That contains all my notes on the case, plus Simon’s confession and a DVD of the talk I had with him the night before last. There would be enough there to convict him if he hadn’t…”
“There’s little you could have done.” White looked over the edge to where police divers were searching the river with floodlights. “If he hadn’t done it like this he’d have found another way. It saves the taxpayers a costly trial, mind. I’m just surprised that it turned out to be him.”
“You never expect a priest to be a murderer.”
“Still…” White looked at the churning water. “To throw yourself into that…” He shook his head. “It’s like Sherlock Holmes at the Reichenbach Falls.”
Meinwen sighed. “And I was his Moriarty.”
White nodded. “Just be glad that you called me first. If he hadn’t jumped by the time you got here he might have tried to take you with him.” He returned her phone and went to s
upervise the search, tucking the envelope into his voluminous overcoat pocket.
Meinwen looked at her received messages. The most recent had been from Simon at eleven-fifteen last night.
I have one last secret to reveal. Meet me at Lover’s Leap.
She had been safely at home then, freshly showered and broadcasting on webcam while chatting to Jennifer, worried about her missing brother. She’d called White then the manor, giving Gillian and Harold good reason for having their footprints at the scene. Gillian had then wiped Simon’s cell clean of fingerprints and thrown it into the waterfall.
“Penny for your thoughts, Ms. Jones?”
Meinwen looked up into the smiling face of Sergeant Peters.
“You looked miles away,” he said. “I’ve brought you a cup of tea. You must be freezing.”
She smiled back. “Sorry. It’s been one hell of a week. I was debating whether to stay here or go back to Wales.”
“Oh, stay.” Peters stopped a little way from the crime scene and took a sandwich from his overcoat pocket. “Nobody will blame you for any of this. They’ve got you to thank, after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got a little compensation for your time. The crown will seize his bank accounts and refund the blackmail money out of the Criminal Compensation Fund. It’ll go to Grace Peters’s estate.”
Meinwen smiled. “Susan Pargeter at The Larches will be happy.”
Peters nodded, biting into his sandwich. “Aye, she’s going to get a windfall. We’d have never cottoned on if he hadn’t returned the twenty grand Sir Robert had set up as a fund transfer from his account.” He offered her the sandwich packet. “Want one? Tandoori chicken and beetroot.”
“No, thanks.” Meinwen shook her head.
“Sorry. I forgot that you people are vegetarians.”
Meinwen was about to correct him when there was a shout from one of the divers. “What’s happening?”
The sergeant looked across, interpreting White’s gestures. “They’ve found an arm. Poor bugger must have had it wrenched clean off on the rocks as he went down.”
* * * *
Jean Markhew entered the conservatory to find Richard sitting in the single wicker chair. He smiled as the door opened. “Good morning, Jean. You wanted to see me?”
She replaced the frown that crossed her face with a smile. How dare he sit in her chair? “Yes, thank you, Richard. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.” Richard rang the small handbell. “Coffee for two,” he said when Amanda entered. The maid curtsied and glanced toward Jean for confirmation before leaving. Richard waited for the door to close behind her. “Thank you for taking care of the house and staff. Had I thought more clearly I would never have left.”
“I’m sure Simon meant well,” Jean hesitated, sucking at her bottom lip. “About the staff. My role toward them has changed significantly during the time you were away.”
“Oh?” Richard raised his eyebrows. “I am well aware of what your position was. Have you now decided to take his place?”
“Yes.” Jean elected to be blunt. “They look to me to guide them now.”
“I see.” Richard inspected his fingernails, looking up at her with his head to one side. “The worm turns, then? Did you kill my stepfather?”
“I did not.” Jean pursed her lips at the accusation. “I merely stepped in to fill the void left by his passing. I thought you were going to ring that woman and find out who the murderer was?”
“She wouldn’t tell me yet. She suggested I wait until the police announce it.” Richard looked toward the door as it opened. “Here’s the coffee.” He waited until Amanda had bent to place the tray on the ironwork table and put a hand over the maid’s neck to stop her rising. Even through the fresh scabs the new mark was clear–the double R symbol enclosed by a J. “How many of them have you claimed?”
“Only this one, though Susan and Nicole have both sworn fealty to me. Peter was holding a torch for Mary and Catherine, of course, elected to leave. I couldn’t understand that until yesterday.”
Richard allowed Amanda to rise and stand behind her mistress. “Then I propose you keep a position of power. Second to me, of course and Catherine is exclusively mine. You will need to find a replacement for her. I can advertise in the usual places.”
Jean nodded. “As you wish. Will you be keeping the others on?”
“If they want to stay. I’ll allow them to leave without penalty if they choose to, or else sign annually renewable contracts.”
“What about Mary?”
Richard shrugged. “What about her? Now that I am no longer obliged to marry her I have no interest. She can stay or go as she desires.”
“She enjoys Peter’s company.”
“Then she can stay.” Richard smiled and held out a coffee cup. “Would you like a little sugar with your bitter pill?”
* * * *
“So that’s how I feel,” said Peter, his gaze centered upon Mary’s booted feet. “I love you, see. It near broke my heart when you got engaged to Mr. Richard.”
“I know.” Mary patted his leg and he looked up. “I’ve known that you were in love with me for ages but didn’t want to rock the boat with Richard. When I get my inheritance I shall be able to do what I like, though.”
“Would you consider marrying me?” Peter smiled, his muscles rippling as he relaxed.
“No.” Mary laughed at the sudden dejected expression. “I like you a lot, Peter, but I like Nicole too. She and I have been lovers for nearly a year now. I couldn’t just give her up. I don’t know how I’d have coped if she hadn’t twisted the accounts in my favor.”
“You wouldn’t have to give her up.” Peter grinned. “We could both be your partners. We could all be each other’s partners.”
Mary nodded. “It’s worth a try. It worked for Uncle Robert, after all.”
* * * *
Catherine sat on the floor between Richard’s legs, her head cradled in his lap. He stroked her hair and talked to her. “You’ve had poorer and worse. From now on the marriage is going to be richer and better.” He looked up and nodded. Jean shaved a small patch on the back of Catherine’s neck and looked down at him.
“The usual.” Richard smiled as the tattoo gun began to buzz. “Why waste a design when the initials are identical? Just leave out your J this time.”
* * * *
At eight-thirty that night Gillian du Pointe knocked on the door of The Larches and waited. An early dinner with Harold had left her just enough time to make her first appointment of the night. The business of an evening solicitor was lucrative. People didn’t always have time in their busy daytime schedules to see her, and for an extra sixty pounds an hour she was more than happy to make house calls.
It took Amanda a little over a minute to answer the door. Gillian didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the oddly buttoned blouse. She held out her card. “I have an appointment with Mr. Godwin and Mrs. Markhew. I believe they’re expecting me.”
“Of course, Ms. du Pointe.” Amanda opened the door wider.
Gillian hesitated, looking at her watch.
“Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you.” Gillian strode into the hall and paused, her gaze lingering on the Pieta.
Amanda closed the front door. “They’re waiting for you in the sitting room.”
Gillian entered, nodding to the assembled family. She glanced at each of them in turn while she opened her briefcase and took out the papers relating to Robert Markhew’s will and the estate and holdings. Jean Markhew was flushed, the pulse in her carotid artery beating at an elevated rate, revealing that it was she Amanda had been with prior to her arrival.
She flicked open the folder. “Thank you for arranging this appointment. This won’t take long now that the police have successfully identified the killer of the late Mr. Markhew.” She opened the will and read out the standard clauses.
Jean leaned forward. “Just skip to who gets what.”
Gillian raised an eyebro
w. “Very well.” She turned to the following page. “To my stepson, Richard Godwin, I bequeath the property known as The Larches, the grounds and the contents, excluding those belonging personally to any guest or resident thereof, plus the sum of four hundred and fifty thousand pounds, all stocks and portfolios in my name, and the full rights to edit, publish and otherwise dispose of my creative works.”
Richard let out a huge sigh of relief and clutched Catherine’s hand, grinning. Catherine leaned toward him for a kiss.
Gillian coughed to recover their attention. “To my sister-in-law, Jean Markhew, I bequeath the sum of fifty thousand pounds and the right to live in The Larches in perpetuity, as this has become her home. To her daughter Mary I leave the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to begin a new life.”
Jean looked annoyed. This was hardly surprising since she had inherited so much less than her nephew. Mary, on the other hand, looked ecstatic, balling her hands into fists and shaking with glee.
Gillian went on “To my housekeeper Susan Pargeter I bequeath the sum of one hundred thousand pounds and to my devoted secretary Nicole Fielding and my companion Peter Numan I bequeath the sum of fifty thousand pounds each. The remainder of my estate I decree to be divided equally between Amanda James and Catherine Latt, after a tithe of ten percent for the church of Our Lady of Pity.”
The solicitor smiled. “That concludes the last will and testament of Robert Markhew. As the new owner of the house and largest beneficiary I will address my bill to you, Mr. Godwin.”
“What about the twenty thousand that went out of Robert’s account?” asked Jean.
Gillian gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Oddly that transaction was initiated after Sir Robert’s death, then canceled and recalled shortly afterward. You’ll find it’s all accounted for, though it left an odd trail in the recipient’s bank account.” She looked at her notes. “St. Pity’s Fund for Deprived Boys. I expect they’ll be a bit upset but you could always make them a donation.”
